


Days Are Forgotten

by Brenda



Series: Brooklyn Reclaimed [4]
Category: Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Bucky Barnes Remembers, Bucky Barnes-centric, M/M, Protective Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:12:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenda/pseuds/Brenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>That Steve still loved him wasn't really a surprise.  Love was rarely rational and had little to do with reality.  Steve could love him for the man he used to be back when they were kids or because he was trying to atone himself (even though he didn't need to) for the past or because of guilt or any number of reasons.  But </i>trust<i> was another matter.</i></p><p>Or:</p><p>During a routine mission in Berlin, Steve and Bucky deal with a memory from Bucky's past as The Winter Soldier.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Days Are Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Borrows from the Captain America; The Winter Soldier comic series and the MCU. Set post-Winter Soldier. (No real spoilers for Cap2.)
> 
> Translations are embedded in the fic and at the end.

**Just off the Karl-Marx-Allee, Berlin, Germany**

 

"You know, at some point, I wanna know all about the girls you bought to service you, right –"

"For the last time, I didn't need to _hire_ any girls," Steve said, following Bucky into the spacious, sleekly modern lobby of the Mercure Hotel. Not too shabby for a quick bread and butter mission. Stark must've owed Steve a favor. Bucky took a moment to quickly scope the room for exits (seven) and potential threats (none, unless the security guard counted, and he didn't) with one sweeping glance, the gesture as second nature to him as breathing.

"Hey, I never said _need_." Bucky grinned, turning to bask in the glorious epicness that was Steve's scowl. It wasn't often he got to see it, and he was going to milk the occasion for all it was worth and ride this good day – the first in a while – as long as he could. He knew the nightmares would come back with their own particular vengeance soon enough.

"But I know you," he continued, "and you stammer whenever anyone remotely attractive of either sex hits on you –"

"C'mon, that's not fair –"

"No?"

Steve frowned again. "Shut up." 

"As I was saying, and since I also happen to know that you weren't living like a monk after you were defrosted, well..." Bucky waggled his brows, and tried his best not to laugh when the scowl deepened. 

As they strode towards the front desk, Steve cast him a sidelong, flirtatious look from beneath his lashes – one he'd pretty much perfected by the time Bucky'd been fifteen and willing to do anything Steve asked. "And so, what, you think I need to pay for it?"

"You said it, not me." God, but Bucky loved winding him up.

"C'mon, Buck, you know me better than that. Is that _really_ what you think?" Steve asked, still gorgeously peevish.

Bucky looped his metal arm, covered by his long-sleeved t-shirt and hoodie, around Steve's shoulders and leaned in. He could feel Steve's all-over shiver. "What I _think_ is you've always had me for free," he murmured, and pressed his body against Steve for a telling second before letting go. "But, you know I'll get the dirty details out of you eventually."

"Maybe," Steve replied, noncommittal, but Bucky caught the smile Steve couldn't quite hide all the same. 

The last year, give or take, had been a slow, frustrating one of one step forward, two steps back, both of them relearning each other degree by painful degree - and even now, it wasn't really an easy process. Bucky still couldn't fully sleep, and Steve still worked himself into exhaustion and spent a fair number of nights pulling Bucky to the floor to curl around him like they were back in the War. But they _were_ getting better. Day by day, Bucky was rediscovering himself, reconciling who he used to be with who he was now, Steve by his side through all of it. And Bucky knew he still had a long ways to go, but the fact that Steve was joking about the days before he and Bucky found each other again was a good sign. 

And Bucky, feeling a little like pushing the envelope, decided to see if he could take it one step further. "Besides, now that you've got some actual notches under your belt, maybe we can do that thing we were always too scared to before the War, if you were still interested."

Bucky didn't miss the way Steve's eyes dilated or the trickle of sweat that trailed down his temple. Bullseye. "Really? You want to...um..." He swallowed, and Bucky's greedy gaze zeroed in on that vulnerable bit of skin.

"Yeah, I really do." He dropped his voice, leaned back in. He could practically smell Steve's arousal. "I bet watching you eat out a girl is the hottest thing on the planet."

" _Buck..._ "

Bucky continued, relentless now that he had the exact reaction he wanted: "Maybe we could stick around here for a night or two after we're done, see if we find a dame that pings us both, and show her a good time."

Steve's adam's apple bobbed again. "Deal." Then he cleared his throat. "But the mission comes first."

"When has the mission ever _not_ come first?" Bucky replied, then walked the remaining steps to the girl manning the front desk, and pasted his best flirtatious smile on his face. Time to play his part. "Well, good morning there, beautiful." His Texas twang was flawless. "I believe you've got a room waiting for me. Last name's Fisher."

She blushed in a thoroughly delightful manner and glanced down at her computer. "Ah yes, one privilege room for two nights..." She glanced up and her gaze flickered to Steve, then back to Bucky, who made sure to widen his smile and give her a conspiratorial wink; just another horny tourist taking advantage of being in a strange city to have a little fun. The blush deepened. "If I could get, um...?"

Bucky took pity on her and slid his passport and credit card (both the best Stark's money could buy) across the counter. She bent her head and started typing. Bucky nudged Steve, and dropped his voice to a low whisper he knew only Steve would be able to hear. "Careful, I think the Clark Kent glasses are doing it for her."

"You're such an ass," Steve murmured back, and pushed the fake square-cut frames back up his nose. 

"Hey, Nat seemed to think they were hot, and who am I to tell her she's wrong?" Bucky looked Steve up and down. Natasha'd done a good job with him. He looked every inch the nondescript tourist hipster, from the black Dynamo Dresden ballcap covering his blond hair and three-day old stubble softening that stubborn, strong jawline, down to the dark grey hoodie and black t-shirt underneath and the baggy jeans that (sadly) hid Steve's ass and thighs, and the plain work boots. "Although we gotta work on your wardrobe."

The corners of Steve's mouth curved up. "You're a fine one to talk," he said, looking pointedly at Bucky's outfit, which was almost a mirror of Steve's, only without the glasses.

"Yeah, but at least _I'm_ wearing jeans that fit," Bucky said, then turned his attention back to the girl at the front desk. It only took another couple of minutes, and a little more carefully calculated flirtation so she'd remember him if asked later, before they had their room keys, and were heading to the bank of elevators.

Steve hefted his duffel higher on his shoulder once he'd punched their floor number. "How much time do we have?"

"Four hours. Relax," Bucky added, although he didn't know why he bothered. Steve wouldn't be Steve if he wasn't constantly on point during a mission, even if said mission was a milk run. Basic surveillance coupled with a home and office bug, in and out quick and easy – a little too easy, if anyone were to ask Bucky about it. Any junior level agent could have taken this gig. Sending Steve and Bucky in was like Murderers Row facing Double A pitching or sending in a bear to kill an ant. But Steve had insisted on going after every Hydra lead personally, and wherever Steve went, Bucky went. And maybe that made him paranoid, but he thought he'd more than earned it.

Besides, taking down Hydra had become something of a personal hobby over the last few months. 

"We should take in some sightseeing while we're here," he suggested, once they'd swept their hotel room for bugs and stowed their gear. "How long's it been since we were in Berlin?"

"I haven't been here since 1944, but you know that. How about you?"

Like Steve didn't already have every inch of Bucky's file memorized in both Russian and English. Like they both hadn't been doing the best they could – two men unused to talking about anything – to be honest with each other about every hard, restless night and every horrifying memory. "'79, I think, maybe '80. It's hard to really remember the exact year." Bucky shrugged. He still had a lot of blank spots, but he'd learned not to push himself. Some days were better than others. "Still a long time. I bet things've changed."

"Things always change."

"Not all things," Bucky replied. And because Steve had that tight, guilty look on his face he almost always got whenever Bucky's old Winter Soldier missions were brought up, Bucky stepped into Steve's personal space, and cupped a rough, unshaven cheek. Grounded them both to the present – the steady beat of Steve's heart, the evenness of Bucky's breath. They were both here, together, _now_. "Not you. I don't think you've changed a bit since we were kids. Not in any way that matters."

"I dunno about all that," Steve replied, but he was smiling as he said it, and his eyes were clear. "You, uh, maybe wanna go grab a bite to eat?"

"Sure." Bucky patted Steve's cheek, lingering over the bristles, and let his hand drop. "But you gotta do me a favor."

"Anything, you know that."

"Keep the scruff for a few more days. I like it."

Steve's gaze flickered, darkened. "Buck..."

"Hey, I'm just saying that you're not the only one that gets off on beard burn." Bucky stole a quick kiss before Steve could protest. "Now c'mon. One thing I do remember is that there used to be a great little Bulgarian place nearby, had really good food. We can see if it's still there, if you want." 

"Bulgarian, huh?"

"Yeah, you can finally cross moussaka off your list."

"Okay." Steve hauled him back in for another kiss, teased his tongue along the seam of Bucky's lips. A promise for later. "But you're buying."

Bucky swept his wallet, room key, and knife off the dresser to keep himself from hauling Steve to the bed. "Sure, but technically, we're on Stark's dime. Which makes it even better."

"One day, you two are gonna have to move past...well, you know."

"I killed his dad, Steve." Bucky deliberately made his tone as matter-of-fact as possible. He'd found, over time and too many setbacks to mention, that he and Steve both best dealt with these sorts of discussions if they kept themselves limited to facts, not emotions. It probably wasn't the healthiest method of dealing with what Bucky'd done, but sentiment and crying about it wouldn't change anything and wouldn't bring any of Bucky's victims back from the dead, and they both knew it.

"That wasn't _you_."

"It's still a lot to ask anyone to forgive. But we're getting better." At least, he thought they were. He trusted Stark with the upkeep on his arm, and he knew Stark knew what that meant for him. 

"I know. And I'm grateful for it. It means a lot to me that you're both trying." They stepped out onto the busy sidewalk and headed south, Bucky keeping a close eye on everything and everyone around them, calculating threat assessments in his head by rote. 

"As long as you understand, me and him, we're never gonna be friends."

"I know, I'm not asking for that, it's just..."

"Yeah, I know." He bumped Steve's shoulder companionably. "It's important to you that all of your BFFs get along."

"God, who thinks up these things?" Steve shook his head. "BFFs. It sounds so...ridiculous."

"Yeah, alright, old man, should I chase the kids off your lawn now?"

"Is this where I remind you that you're older than me?" Steve grinned, good humor thankfully restored. 

"Yeah, but I'm not nearly as cranky," Bucky replied, as they turned the corner into the Straussberger Platz, just another routine mission, no different than a hundred others –

– And the temperature dropped, time shifted sideways, yanked him into the past.

 

_The bench beneath him was hard and uncomfortable, but he didn't feel it. Uncomfortable situations were part of the job and he'd dealt with far worse conditions than this. His knitted cap and thin jacket did a poor job of blocking the wind and the cold, but he was well used to both. His gaze, sharp and clear, scanned the area, assessing and dismissing risks and variances, until the target finally came into view. Male, Chinese, medium weight and height, mid-thirties, holding the hand of a young girl._

_He stood, silent and observant, glided through the lunchtime crowd, unobtrusive, unnoticed, until he was in position right behind the target. The serrated blade of the k-bar slid through the target's spinal cord like butter, and in one smooth movement, he just as quickly severed the child's jugular before she could even react. By the time both bodies hit the pavement in a spreading pool of blood, he was fifty yards out and on his way to his extraction point –_

 

"Bucky. Buck, c'mon, talk to me, buddy, come back to me, alright –"

Concerned blue eyes framed by a pair of square-cut glasses swam into view. He wasn't used to concern or kindness. It had to be a test. He braced himself for an impact that never came. _"Yey bylo desyat'."_

 _"Komu? Komu bylo desyat'? Skazhy mne."_ A large, warm hand came to rest on his shoulder. He wasn't used to warmth. It had no place in his world. He was winter incarnate, he was hard and unyielding and emotionless, a weapon forged in iron and ice.

 _"Ona ne byla tsel'yu,"_ he said slowly, struggling to remember details as they threatened to slip from his fingers like sand. _"No bylo boleye ratsional'no ubrat' eyo – "_

_"Ey, vsyo v poryadke, vsyo horosho, poydyom prisyadem na skameyku, vot syuda. Ty mozhesh eto sdelat'? Mozhesh poyti so mnoy?"_

He sucked in a lungful of cool, clear air and nodded. Grasped blindly for the hand on his shoulder, a lifeline he instinctively trusted although he couldn't say why (trust was for the weak), as they made their way over to the bench and sat down.

Gradually, the air around him thawed, his body warming in slow degrees. Blue eyes morphed into Steve's familiar face looking back at him, concern spilling out of his every pore so thick it was almost a physical presence. The hand on his shoulder slid down, rough fingers rubbing across his skin, covered his own. "Buck? You back with me? You okay?"

Bucky shook his head, winced through the ringing in his ears and the vertigo. His lungs felt too tight for his body. "I...I don't know."

"You okay to stand or –?"

"Could we just...sit here? Just for a minute?" He'd be okay. He just...needed a minute. That's all. Just a minute to clear his head, to stop the ringing. Maybe regain the feeling in his legs.

"Yeah, yeah, sure. Whatever you need."

Bucky flipped his hand to lace his fingers with Steve's, concentrated on the heat of Steve's skin, the familiar calluses on the pads of his fingers, the way Steve squeezed back, like he was also afraid Bucky was going to disappear. Time blurred, then cleared, past merging with the present, today, here, _now_. People bustled around them, the fountain in front of them gurgled, and the sun shone brightly overhead. It was late spring, he was outside, his mind and his thoughts were his own. 

His name was James Buchanan Barnes, Bucky to his friends, he was in Berlin on a mission with Steve, and Steve was right beside him, everything was fine, he was – 

One deep breath turned into two, then three. He was from Brooklyn, he worked for the Avengers, Steve was with him like he always was, warm and solid and real, and they'd survived Hydra, survived the War, he'd survived the Red Room and Lukin, and they were together again – 

"I'm sorry." He'd do a better job of recon next time, he'd make sure there would be no surprises, no triggers. He couldn't risk – what if he'd – 

"Don't be, it's okay. You wanna tell me what happened?" Steve asked, soft and careful, like Bucky was a skittish cat. "One second you were with me and the next, it was like...you were just _gone_."

"I was here." Bucky gestured at the Platz with his free hand, and gave Steve the unvarnished, terrible truth. "'65, maybe, '66. There was...a Chinese dissident, maybe, or national or someone Hydra wanted dead for, well...it didn't matter. They wanted this guy eliminated, and I guess he was high level enough because they thawed me out to do it."

"Okay."

Bucky was grateful that Steve didn't ask him to stop or if he was sure he wanted to talk about it. They'd both come so far. It was important to remember that. "He had a daughter, went to school near here, and he always picked her up himself, walked her home. She couldn't have been more than ten, maybe eight, I don't...."

Steve's hold tightened. "Buck, look at me." 

"Steve..." But Bucky couldn't say no; hell, he wouldn't know how. Slowly, he raised his eyes, met Steve's, and the love and compassion and forgiveness shining out of them was too much. His throat tightened. Bile rose. He would _never_ be clear, no matter how many lives he saved or whatever penance he paid. "She was just a _kid_. And I didn't even think twice about it."

"I'm not gonna lie and tell you it's okay, because we both know it's not. But I'm with you." Steve squeezed his hand again for good measure. He scooted closer, everything that was warm and bright in Bucky's world, everything he'd die to protect. "No matter what."

"I know." It was the only thing some days that kept him going. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to just –"

"Stop." Steve covered both their hands with his other one. "Don't you dare finish that. _You_ don't have a damn thing to feel sorry for."

"So you keep telling me."

"I wouldn't have to keep telling you if you weren't so stubborn," Steve replied, his lips turning up in a small smile, and seeing it eased a little of the tightness in Bucky's chest. As long as Steve could smile at him and mean it, he'd be alright.

"Stubborn's you, not me."

"Where do you think I learned it from?" Then Steve ducked his head to give him a quick, soft kiss. Bucky turned it into two, then three, tried to recapture a little of the feeling from earlier. "You want me to call in Sam and Natasha?" Steve asked.

"What? No, I can...I'm not compromised." He could finish the mission. And if Steve thought he could take that away from him – 

"Okay. But if you change your mind –"

"I could do this in my sleep," Bucky stated, and untangled their hands, held up his own flesh and blood one for Steve's inspection. "See, steady as a rock."

"Alright, then, I guess we're still a go," Steve said, and smiled at him again, showing a hint of the laugh lines around his mouth. Bucky wanted to lean in, trace them with his tongue, and the fact that he still _wanted_ , that he desired, was more than enough to convince himself this was real. He was his own person again.

"And don't even think about hovering over me like a mother hen." His job was to operate in the shadows, and he couldn't do that if Steve –

Steve threw up his hands in a gesture of surrender. "No smothering, I promise. I trust you."

That Steve still loved him wasn't really a surprise. Love was rarely rational and had little to do with reality. Steve could love him for the man he used to be back when they were kids or because he was trying to atone himself (even though he didn't need to) for the past or because of guilt or any number of reasons. But _trust_ was another matter. Trust was putting his life in Bucky's hands; it was the greatest soldier on earth and one of the best men who had ever lived giving Bucky his unconditional stamp of approval, a damaged, dangerous assassin with far too much blood on his hands, and far too much regret. And that trust – that faith – meant everything.

"I know," Bucky replied, soft and serious. He held Steve's gaze for another few heartbeats, wordlessly letting Steve know just how much it meant to him, then stood. "C'mon. I think I still owe you dinner."

Steve let Bucky pull him to his feet, kept his hand in Bucky's, warm, assuring, _here_. They'd made it. They were both free. "Moussaka, right?"

"You'll love it."

He could give them this, the rest of the day, the mission – could give them both the relative normalcy they needed and craved.

"I have no doubt." Steve pressed a light kiss to Bucky's lips. "And after we're done with everything, if you still wanted...but only if you want to..."

Another gift. Another living embodiment of Steve's faith. "Oh, I definitely want to," Bucky replied, a promise to them both. 

Steve's eyes flashed with his own promise. "Good. Now let's get out of here."

They headed out of the Platz, hand in hand, shoulders bumping every few steps, and, for the moment, Bucky left his past behind as well. He wouldn't be even, not for a long time, if ever, but he had Steve by his side. And as long as he had that, he could deal with whatever came his way.

***

**Author's Note:**

>  _"Yey bylo desyat'."_ \- She was ten.
> 
>  _Komu? Komu bylo desyat'? Skazhy mne."_ \- Who? Who was ten? Talk to me.
> 
>  _Ona ne byla tsel'yu. No bylo boleye ratsional'no ubrat' eyo"_ \- She wasn't the target. But it was more expedient to eliminate her
> 
> " _Ey, vsyo v poryadke, vsyo horosho, poydyom prisyadem na skameyku, vot syuda. Ty mozhesh eto sdelat'? Mozhesh poyti so mnoy?_ " - Hey, it's alright, it's okay, let's just sit down on those benches right there. Can you do that? Can you walk with me?
> 
> ***  
>    
> Thanks to Jo for the beta, and to Leelust for her translation help.
> 
> You can now find me on [Tumblr](http://brendaonao3.tumblr.com/). :)


End file.
